The Curse of Being Harry Potters Kid
by luvscharlie
Summary: Al Potter is not much like his father, and he's tired of being compared to the famous Harry Potter. Albus Severus/Scorpius


_The Curse of Being Harry Potter's Kid _by Luvscharlie

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Warnings: Oral, fluffiness

_A/N: Originally written for the 2010 acciovalentinus exchange on Live Journal. The underlined text in the letter is actually meant to show as struck through. This program simply disallows me to do that._

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The days when I wish I was someone else are—well, they're really too frequent to count. Hey, it's not easy being me. Nothing about it is. Oh, sure everyone thinks it must be great to be Harry Potter's kid. Um-hm, yeah. Well, let me tell you, they think that because they _aren't_ Harry Potter's kid.

Everything I do is frowned upon simply because I don't do it as well as my dad did. My wand work is mediocre at best, I'm pants at Potions, and I sit a broom like I'm terrified of it—because I am. I don't like high places, flying is for birds, and whoever decided that brooms should be used to fly about on in the first place was an idiot. We have feet which were meant to be standing on firm, hard ground. I do not have feathers, I do not have wings, thus, I should not be flying—at least that's my philosophy on the whole matter. Madam Hooch seemed to disagree during First Year Flying and she gave me a 'T'. A 'T'! Want to know what happens when you don't pass Flying the first time? They make you come back during Third Year so that you miss Hogsmeade weekends to retake it. I T'd out a second time, and I think she just gave up on me. Dad still holds out hope there's a bit of his talent for flying somewhere down deep inside me just waiting to burst out—I think he's going to be waiting quite a long time, if he expects to see that.

You'd think that most of this Harry Potter's kid stuff would have died down after Jamie started school, you know. But he's just so laidback about it, and blows it off when people compare him to Dad. And he has the red hair, so I think sometimes people even forget his last name's Potter, since he looks so much like a Weasley.

But lucky me, I got Dad's build, his eyes and his hair (which was a curse in and of itself, let me just tell you). It's like walking around with an unruly porcupine on your head. If I had to wear glasses too, I think sometimes people would call me Harry.

I mean, Aunt Hermione tells me not to listen to everything the professors say about what an ace student Dad was. She says they have "selective memory" and that since Dad was some big saviour and all, they now pretend he was good at everything. Harry Potter, Golden Boy. Aunt Hermione says she was the one who was good at everything and Dad was a pants student, (okay, she said mediocre, but give me a break, yeah?) but that's little comfort when I'm being called out in front of my classmates daily.

It is bad enough that I have to deal with this stuff at school, but the curse that is being Harry Potter's child started long before I came to Hogwarts. It would appear that I'm as gifted on wheels as I am on a broom, because on one particular day I was riding my tricycle down the street in Godric's Hollow and the stupid thing just sped up on its own. Nothing I did would slow it down and I crashed into this poor old bird trying to carry in groceries from the market. And I mean, the accident may not have been typical, what with the demon-possessed tricycle and all, but it was just that—an accident. Yeah, well tell that to that Skeeter woman. The headline on the front page of the _Prophet_ the next day was _Harry Potter's Child Terrorizes Neighbourhood_ with a picture of my tricycle on top of the bird's legs and me with this demonic look on my face as I stared up at the camera. Well, they said "demonic". Truth was, it was a look of relief that the speeding tricycle had stopped…if in a rather unfortunate manner.

And yes, I have been "Harry Potter's kid" my whole life so one might think I'd be over all of this and a bit accustomed to it by now, but this curse has brought about a new problem in my life, and I reckon I'm entitled to bit of wallowing about in self-pity. I mean it's hard enough to have a girlfriend (well, I mean I suppose, it's not like I'd know or anything), but having a boyfriend when you're just certain that there's a camera lurking around every corner to snap your picture and out you to your parents is just… well, it's stressful, that's what it is.

I've been thinking about all of these things a lot lately, but I guess I have my reasons.

* * *

The door to my dorm room clicked closed and Scorpius wandered in. "Are you finished yet?"

I rushed to cover my still mostly blank parchment by folding it over and gave him my most winning smile. "Almost."

Scorpius set a cup of peppermint tea down on the desk beside where I was composing my letter home. "Really? Let's see it then," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Clutching the parchment close to me, I shook my head. "No, it's not quite finished."

"You even haven't started, have you?"

"I have!" I exclaimed, though 'Dear Mum and Dad' may be all I had written, it was a start. I shifted my attention to the tea and took a sip. "Ugh, that's disgusting. You never put enough sugar in it."

"I put in two, just like you asked."

"When I say two, I mean three," I said with a growl.

"Like I was supposed to know that?"

"Well, if you paid attention to the things I like, you'd know." I moved the parchment out of sight, hoping the topic of conversation would shift.

"First of all, don't change the subject." Scorpius said with a disapproving 'tsk', leaning into me as he said it. "Secondly, if you don't hurry there's no way that even the fastest owl in the Owlery will get this letter to your parents before they see tomorrow's morning edition of the _The Prophet_. Do you really want them to find out about us by seeing our picture there on the front page… in a very compromising position?"

"Well, that's how your parents are going to find out! You didn't even waste your precious time on a letter. Some son you are." I knew I shouldn't let Scorpius wind me up so easily, but he just always seemed to know what buttons to push. Besides, I was terrified of what tomorrow's headline was going to be. If the Terror on a Tricycle Incident had made the front page, this was bound to, and dear Merlin, the embarrassment! The worst part of all of this is if I wasn't Harry Potter's kid, nobody would give a damn.

Scorpius smiled smugly, and I seriously considered throttling him until that smirk vanished from his face. Scorpius cleared his throat and then charged on. "My parents already know I'm gay. Grant it, they don't know about you and I being together, but I doubt that a letter home is going to soften that blow. I mean, my dad is going to do his share of screaming about where in the world he went wrong, which I suspect will ultimately lead to where did my mother go wrong because this must surely be her doing. In short, he's not going to be happy. Not one little bit."

It was true. My parents didn't know I was gay. And it did seem cruel to let them find out from the front page of the _Prophet_. I should at least tell them, and I wanted to, really I did. But there was perfect Jamie, with his perfect little Ravenclaw girlfriend, and then there was Lily, who grant it, was no angel, but being a girl sure did get her a pass on a lot of things, at least with Mum and Dad (more specifically Dad). Not only that, the girl could look you right in the face and lie in a way that you'd never doubt her honesty. And she had zero conscience, so that lying didn't bother her in the least. Then there was me.

"Write the letter, Al," Scorpius urged.

And I picked up the quill and dipped it into the inkwell…

* * *

Dear Mum and Dad,

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I am gay, and the photo on the front page is Scorpius Malfoy's naked arse, not mine

_… __though it might be my head that his arse is blocking__._

_Your son,_

Albus

* * *

I decided to go with the direct approach. Why give them more information than they need, right? Well, that's what I was thinking when I scratched out that last part. I'm fairly certain that wretched Skeeter woman will make sure they know it's me down on my knees, back there in the alley behind the Hog's Head anyway, but I figured it was best if I just stayed quiet on the topic. Upon reflection, that whole 'wouldn't it be exciting to do this in the alley' idea was probably not really all that smart in the first place, but I wasn't exactly thinking with my head then, you know.

* * *

Scorpius and I made our way to the Owlery.

"God, let's hurry. This place makes me so nervous."

Scorpius shook his head and grinned. "How do you not have a panic attack every time we go to the Astronomy Tower for class?"

"_Because_," I said, "the Astronomy Tower does not contain vicious beasts who are just waiting to swoop at me and knock me out a window so that I'll plummet to my death. Go ahead and laugh if you want, but here, you find one of the disgusting creatures to tie this to." I held the parchment out to him, and he took it with a hardly suppressed chuckle. I backed against a wall void of windows for my own safety.

"So you don't care if I go plummeting to my death, then?"

"Sorry, but it's every man for himself. And could you just hurry… please?" I pleaded.

Scorpius located the biggest Eagle Owl in the Owlery and woke it from its slumber, which earned him a sharp peck on the finger.

"See, I told you. Vicious!"

He shook his head and attached my letter to its leg. The owl didn't belong to either him or me. Desperate times and all that rot. I mean it wasn't as though I could land myself in water that was any hotter at that point by unauthorized use of an owl.

I watched the owl take off and instantly wished I had my letter back. "That was a mistake. Call it back. Right now. Call it back," I said.

"It's not a puppy, Al. I can't just whistle and bring it back. I don't think it was a very bright bird, and I'm not its master or anything. I doubt it's even within earshot anymore."

"Well, you could at least try," I said, waving my arms frantically, my fear of the Owlery momentarily forgotten in the new onset of fear that my parents would not accept this revelation about me.

Scorpius pressed me back against the wall and kissed me quiet. "Shh," he whispered against my lips. "It really will be okay. Your parents love you no matter what, right?"

"Yeah, maybe. I mean, I guess they do. But they don't love you. I think my Dad's going to murder you."

"Okay, um, Al, you can be quiet now. Because before you started this line of conversation _I_ was fine. You're really not helping _my_ anxiety level."

"But I'm serious. My dad still hates your dad and—oomph" Scorpius kissed me again, his hand sliding to my waist. "Stop doing that!" I said when he pulled his lips away from mine. "I hate it when you don't let me finish a sentence."

"Start talking something besides nonsense and I'll consider that request. We're alone up here, you know?"

"No, we're not. The beasts are here." I pointed to the owls, most of which seemed to be sleeping… thankfully.

Scorpius ground his hips against mine and I forgot all about those birds… well mostly. I was keeping one eye on them, you know, just in case any of them got any bright ideas. Owls are shifty creatures. I'm certain of it.

"Ignore them," Scorpius said, and pushed open my robes. When he flicked open the button on my trousers and tugged them down, I found that the birds were much easier to disregard. When his mouth closed around me, I had reached the point of 'what birds?' I worked my hips back and forth, in and out of the warmth that enveloped me, groaning and sighing, digging my fingers into Scorpius' short blond hair.

"Fuck yes, so close. So very close," I moaned, closing my eyes and doing my best to hold myself up, despite feeling my knees go weak.

"And what would you be so very close to, Mr Potter?"

I froze, and so did Scorpius. _Just kill me now._ That voice was unmistakeable. I popped open one eye. _Yep, thought so._ Headmistress McGonagall had chosen that very moment to post an owl to someone.

* * *

The next day, Scorpius and I were doing one of our many detentions, elbows deep in a bucket of slugs, de-sliming them. "You know," I said, "I'm thinking that blow jobs don't work out so well for us."

Scorpius hurled a slug that hit me squarely in the forehead. "You think, moron?"

"Oi, this detention's not so bad. It could be like a million times worse, you know?"

Scorpius cleared his throat. "Well don't look now, but it just got worse."

I looked up and gulped. My parents were approaching. "Guess they got the owl, huh?"

Scorpius took a step away from me, the big chicken. "Or saw the _Prophet_." Two blond heads followed my parents down the steps from the school.

"Oh, look. I'm not the only one who's in trouble this time." And before the last word had escaped my lips, Scorpius' bucket of slugs was dumped over my head.

I thought our relationship was off to a smashing start.


End file.
